No Place Like Home
by LexaLexie
Summary: Part 8 added!!! PLEASE r/r!! Abby has gone home for Thanksgiving and has to deal with some of her MANY issues (man, that woman has a lot of issues.......)
1. The Road Ahead

No Place Like Home Part 1: The Road Ahead  
  
Author: Lexa  
  
Email: c_rossingjordan@yahoo.com  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Synopsis: Abby has to face going 'home' for Thanksgiving.  
  
Spoilers: Don't think there are any.  
  
Comments: Please review!!!!!!! I've been working on this for a while, but this place hasn't been working for a while. Anyways, you may have read some parts other places, but parts 2 and 3 have been changed since anyone has seen them. Part 4 is new, and I've written part 5, it just needs to be edited. I'll keep writing if you guys like it.  
  
The song in this part is "Sunny Came Home".  
  
Disclaimer: They don't belong to me. If they did, why would I be writing silly little fanfics?  
  
  
  
The green sign with white letters tells me I've got 30 miles to go, and chills run up my spine. Quickly I jam a cigarette in my mouth and smack the radio. The speakers start to blare some ridiculous music so I change the station. Anything to keep me from thinking about what the road ahead of me holds.  
  
  
  
Luka kept referring to this trip as "going home", but 'home' is not the proper word for this. The word 'home' would suggest that it's somewhere you belong, or at least a place where you belonged at some point. Maybe it's the closest to having a 'home' that I'll ever have; a place that I haven't set foot in in 12 years, a place that is still the setting for many of my nightmares, a place that I fear going back to, even resent. A place that reminds me of the life I've been trying ever so desperately to forget for the past 12 years, a place that still holds the me I keep pretending I no longer am. But if I really am no longer that person, then why am I coming back?  
  
  
  
The closer I get, the more and more familiar it looks, and the more and more haunting it feels. As I drive by a tall red apartment building, I remember looking at it once when we were coming back from thanksgiving at my uncle's, and thinking how nice it would be to live there by myself, be some rich jetsetter who could have anything she wanted; how romantic. But of course now the paint's faded, there's no longer a door man standing in front, and there's clothes hanging out to dry on the balconies.  
  
I just turn up the radio, hoping it will drone out my thoughts. This isn't the time to get emotional.  
  
  
  
My car gets even slower as I pull into the street. It looks basically the same as it does in my nightmares. There's the tacky yellow house with the blue garage.. The red brick house where the Abbots used to live.. The house that always had a lot of cats..  
  
I finally I arrive at the house I've been driving hours to get to. At first I just stop my car and stare at it. My hands are still on the wheel. My foot is still on the gas pedal. All I have to do is turn the key and keep driving again. But instead I get out and walk slowly to the front door.  
  
I knock then stuff my hands into my pockets, waiting impatiently. Maybe he's not here. Maybe he left. Maybe I can just turn around and go back to Chicago again.  
  
Never mind. My planned has been ruined.  
  
"Abby!?" He said as he opened the door.  
  
"Hi Dad." 


	2. If These Walls Could Talk

No Place Like Home Part 2 - If These Walls Could Talk  
  
Author: Lexa  
  
Email: c_rossingjordan@yahoo.com  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Synopsis: Abby has to face coming 'home' for Christmas.  
  
Spoilers: Don't think there are any.  
  
Comments: Hope you're enjoying it so far. This chapter is different than what I posted at FanForum, EGroups, etc. It's been edited. I just don't remember how much. It's still the same idea, just more sarcastic thoughts on the part of Abby.  
  
The song is still "Sunny Came Home".  
  
Disclaimer: I think we've established the fact that these characters aren't mine.  
  
I recognize the smell of his cologne as he gives me a hug. It's the same cologne he used when I was younger, and he still wears it as excessively as he used to.  
  
As we both pull back, he puts his hands on my arms and looks at me for moment.  
  
He smiles, "You look amazing sweetie."  
  
"I look awful."  
  
"Don't say that, you look beautiful"  
  
"You look exactly the same."  
  
"Now I have a lot more grey hair."  
  
"Why don't you dye it?" I walk into the living room and drop my bags to the floor as I notice that not only has he gotten all new furniture, but new carpets as well.  
  
"So, how was the car ride over?" A little sensitive about hair dye, are we now Dad?  
  
"Long. Is Eric not here yet?" Hey, look at that, I can change the subject too! Guess the acorn really doesn't fall far from the tree.  
  
"No, he's coming tomorrow."  
  
There's a silence. Neither of us know what to say as he stands there looking at me, while I just keep looking around the room.  
  
It's strange, isn't it? You can change the couch, the table, the TV, the carpets, and you would think that would be enough. But you can't change the walls; and maybe that's what gets me the most. These are the same walls that I sat between when I learned to read. The same walls in which Eric and I fought over petty childhood things. The same walls that watched my mother have countless manic episodes. They watched as my father told us he was leaving.  
  
Finally, he says something. "Do you want to put your stuff upstairs? I figured you and Eric would want to stay in your old rooms."  
  
"Yah, I should probably get changed too." I pick up my stuff and start towards the stairs.  
  
"You need any help bringing up your bags?"  
  
"No, I'm fine."  
  
*********  
  
Sunny came home to her favourite room  
  
Sunny sat down in the kitchen  
  
She opened a book and a box of tools  
  
Sunny came home with a mission  
  
She says days go by I'm hypnotized  
  
I'm walking on a wire  
  
I close my eyes and fly out of my mind  
  
Into the fire  
  
**********  
  
It feels a bit eerie, opening the door to my old room. It's been so long, yet as my hand turns the knob flashbacks from some of the thousands of times I must have opened this door come rolling through my mind.  
  
I took most of my stuff when I went to college, but my old bed still sits in the corner, most of the shelves are empty, although a few frames and books are scattered along a couple of them. The walls even have a couple of my posters from the '80's taped up on them (Mental note: Take those down tonight; they are all extremely creepy and I won't be able to fall asleep with them all staring at me).  
  
I drop all my stuff on the bed and stand there, glancing around the room. Instead of wonderful memories of childhood coming to my mind, it's constant turmoil that sticks out.  
  
"..You left! You left me and Eric, and now, thanks to you, the last ten years have been hell!!"  
  
"Abby. come on."  
  
"What's worse, is that you keep trying to act as if you love us. But really, you wouldn't have left if you did!"  
  
He quickly grabbed me in order to stop me as I started to angrily make my way to the door, "Abigail!!! You know why I had to leave!"  
  
"Right. Maggie. You couldn't live with her. Of course you decided to leave us with her. So we could grew up faster than we should have. So we could deal with her depression and her manic episodes, and not having parents who loved us-"  
  
"I love you and your brother, Abigail. I always have!"  
  
"Well you sure have a hell of showing it!"  
  
And with that, I walked out, closing the door behind me; reminding myself not to cry.  
  
  
  
I close my eyes and try to rid my mind of these thoughts of things that happened a long time ago. After all, it has been twelve years.  
  
Quickly I throw on a different pair of jeans and a warmer sweater, leaving my cigarette-smelling clothes strewn across the bed.  
  
And with that, I walk out, closing the door behind me; reminding myself not to cry. 


	3. Walking On A Wire

Author: Lexa  
  
Email: c_rossingjordan@yahoo.com  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Synopsis: Abby has to face coming 'home' for Christmas.  
  
Spoilers: Don't think there are any.  
  
Comments: Hope you're enjoying it so far. This chapter is different than what I posted at FanForum, EGroups, etc. It's been edited. I just don't remember how much. It's still the same idea, just more sarcastic thoughts on the part of Abby.  
  
The song is STILL "Sunny Came Home"  
  
Disclaimer: I think we've established the fact that these characters aren't mine.  
  
  
  
"So how's Richard?" My father stupidly asks as he hands me my coffee and sits across the table from me with his.  
  
"We're divorced." Thank God. Or else right now I'd be sitting here wondering which whore he was in our bed with at this moment.  
  
"Oh. Since when?" Who cares? We're divorced, I'm not his wife anymore. That's all that matters.  
  
"Since last summer."  
  
"I'm sorry to hear that." He pauses for a moment and just looks at me. I avoid his eyes by looking down at my coffee (because it is very interesting). "You seeing anybody?"  
  
"Yah." Never thought I'd actually get the attention of a decent man, did you dad? Well, neither did I. Just make sure you don't blink, because when you open your eyes, he might just not be there anymore. Kind of like you.  
  
"Are you going to tell me about him?"  
  
I sigh. Does he really care? Probably not. He's probably just making conversation. Although, I should probably thank him; There are more difficult things the two of us could be talking about than my love life.  
  
"His name is Luka. He's a doctor."  
  
"What kind of name is Luka?" I don't know, what kind of name is Greg Wiezinski?  
  
"He's Croatian."  
  
"Is he nice?"  
  
"No, dad, he's a horrible person. That's why I'm dating him." Oh boy, this is going to be a really long Thanksgiving.  
  
"Well excuse me for trying to catch up with my daughter."  
  
I fiddle with my cup, and finally take a sip. It tastes worse than the coffee at the hospital. It's nice to see some things never change.  
  
"I've missed you Abby," he says quietly.  
  
I look back up at him. "Don't act like it's my fault. You could have called me more than once in every five years."  
  
"Why? It's not as if you ever made any effort yourself. Every time I did call, it was like pulling teeth just trying to get you to talk." I'm not a dentist, I'm a nurse.  
  
I knew this was a bad idea. I should have stayed in Chicago with Luka, a frozen pumpkin pie, and take-out food. I push my chair back and start to get up.  
  
"Abigail, please. Don't just keep running away from this like you have from everything else in your life."  
  
"Oh yah, you're the one to talk."  
  
"Abigail-"  
  
"And can I ask you something? How would you really know anything about me?"  
  
"I'm your father."  
  
"Yah, and a great one you've been too." Just as great as Richard was a husband. And you're almost as good at being a father as Luka and I are at communicating. That's pretty impressive.  
  
"Before you walk out of here again, can we please just talk about this for once? It's been twelve years Abby. Twelve years since I've really felt like I have a daughter."  
  
"And it's been 22 years since I've really felt like I have a father."  
  
Neither of us says anything else for a moment, although it seems like forever. The silence is almost deafening, and my heart is telling me to jump in my car, drive to Chicago, and never, ever, look back again. But my head is telling me to at least finish this conversation. So my heart replies, 'I think it is finished, isn't it?'  
  
Finally. He breaks the silence. "We don't have to talk about this now."  
  
I look back up at him just as he starts to leave his chair.  
  
"But please stay. Your brother is coming tomorrow and I really wanted to able to spend some time with the two of you." I unfold my arms, and for once since I've arrived here, I look at him in the eyes for more than three seconds. "You probably need to call Chicago, so why don't I fix us something to eat while you're on the phone?"  
  
I nod and head the other way towards the stairs.  
  
"Come back down in about a half hour, it'll be ready by then." He calls up to me just as I reach the top.  
  
"Alright."  
  
I walk into the room, throw my clothes off my bed and collapse on it.  
  
This probably really is the closest thing to home I'll ever have.  
  
***********  
  
She says days go by I don't know why  
  
I'm walking on a wire  
  
I close my eyes and fly out of my mind  
  
Into the fire  
  
Get the kids and bring a sweater  
  
Dry is good and wind is better  
  
Count the years, you always knew it  
  
Strike a match, go on and do it  
  
********** 


	4. Abby's Black Balloons

No Place Like Home- Part 4 Abby's Black Balloons  
  
Author: Lexa  
  
Email: c_rossingjordan@yahoo.com  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Synopsis: Abby has to face coming 'home' for Christmas.  
  
Spoilers: Don't think there are any.  
  
Comments: Alright, this is the first time this chapter's been posted anywhere. I hope you're all enjoying it.  
  
The song for this one is "Black Balloons" by the Goo Goo Dolls  
  
Disclaimer: I think we've established the fact that these characters aren't mine.  
  
  
  
"Hi, room 1214 please."  
  
I tap my finger against the phone as wait while the clerk puts me through to Luka's room.  
  
"Hello?" Hearing a voice so familiar at this moment is so comforting it almost makes me cry. What I wouldn't do to just be back in his hotel room and not have to deal with this house that haunts me every minute.  
  
"Hi, Luka." Talking to him is the second best thing to being there with him... I guess.  
  
"Abby? Hi," I know he's smiling as he says it. I don't want the second best thing, I want to be there with him.  
  
"Hey." That's the best thing you could come up with? You're not there with your boyfriend of over a year for thanksgiving and all you can say is 'Hey'?  
  
"How is your visit home going so far?" Home. Right. Of course. That's what it is.  
  
"Fine, I guess. It'll probably be better when Eric gets here."  
  
"He's not there yet?"  
  
"No, he's coming tomorrow."  
  
I can hear him sigh over the phone. Maybe he realizes that me being alone with my father is one of the most torturous thing in the world for me at this moment. Last thanksgiving it was my mother, this thanksgiving; my father. God. I could really use a cigarette right now.  
  
"So it's just you and your father?"  
  
"Mmmhmm." All I need is one. Just one cigarette, then I'll be fine. That'll get me through tonight. Or, dinner at least.  
  
He's obviously trying to think up something to say. I don't blame him. What is he going to say, 'Oh, it must be nice to catch up with your father who you love so dearly,' or even better; 'You must love being in that house again, with all those wonderful memories.'  
  
"How was the car ride over?" I actually have to applaud Luka. That's better than anything I would have thought up.  
  
"It was fine." Should I say it? I nervously play with the phone cord as I say end up saying it, "I miss you Luka."  
  
Say something. Say something. Say something. Oh God, please say something.  
  
Why isn't he saying anything?  
  
"I miss you too Abby." Well, that wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. "I can't wait to see you again."  
  
Don't cry Abby. Don't cry. Your fathers in the house and you're on the phone with Luka, you can't cry. Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry.  
  
"Luka.." Nice going Abby. Talk so quiet that he probably won't be able to hear you.  
  
"Yes?" Never mind.  
  
"Umm.. No, it's nothing." What are you doing Abby? Tell him how much being here kills you inside. Tell him that the fact that this is the closest thing to home you're ever going to get and that that makes you almost fall apart, because 'home' isn't supposed to be like this.  
  
"Is something wrong?" Of course something's wrong. But if I tell you, you might think. oh God, there's a lot of things you could think.  
  
I distract myself for a moment by looking at my toes, wiggling beneath my socks. They're dying to get free. To escape from their co-toes, from the foot that they extend from, from the smelly hellhole that is my sock. All they want is to break away from the only thing they've ever known.  
  
"No, no, nothing at all." Quick! Quick! Abort conversation immediately!  
  
The problem with going out with an intelligent guy like Luka is that he can tell when you're lying. You just have to hope that he doesn't decide to pry or pay attention, and normally, it works. But I'm not taking that chance today. "Umm.umm. Luka, I gotta go eat. I'll talk to you later, alright?"  
  
"Al-alright," he responds hesitantly.  
  
Oh, shit Luka, when you say it in that disappointed voice it makes me feel even worse.  
  
"I'll call you later."  
  
"Alright. Bye Abby."  
  
"Bye Luka."  
  
With that, I hear the phone click on his end, and I slowly put down the phone. I still have another fifteen minutes before the food will be ready, so I quickly slip down stairs, through the kitchen where my father is cooking what I gather to be dinner, and into the backyard.  
  
******************************  
  
A thousand other boys could never reach you  
  
How could I have been the one?  
  
I saw the world spin beneath you  
  
And scatter like ice from the spoon  
  
That was your womb  
  
***************************** 


	5. Angels That Fall

Author: Lexa  
  
Email- c_rossingjordan@yahoo.com  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Synopsis: Abby has to face coming 'home' for Christmas.  
  
Spoilers: Don't think there are any.  
  
Comments: Ok, this is part 5. Didn't put much effort into it. It was kinda hard to write. Anyways, I really need you guys to review!!! :) I hope you're all enjoying it. If you are, I'll keep writing.  
  
The song is "Name" by the Goo Goo Dolls  
  
No Place Like Home- Part 5 "Angels That Fall"  
  
  
  
  
  
Before I left Luka repeatedly asked, well, told me, not to bring any cigarettes. He's trying to get me to quit. I even surrendered all my packs before leaving. And I'm proud to say that I did not stop at the first convenience store on my way here.  
  
I stopped at the second convenience store.  
  
I walk to the side of the backyard; far away enough so that my father won't be able to see me. Carefully, I take the pack of cigarettes from my pocket and hold it between my fingers. Before lighting it, the countless conversations with Luka start rolling through my mind.  
  
"It's disgusting."  
  
"It relaxes me."  
  
"You really should quit."  
  
"I will."  
  
"Are you just saying that, or do you really mean it?"  
  
"Luka.."  
  
"It's unhealthy."  
  
"I'm a nurse, I know that."  
  
"So why don't you quit?"  
  
I've tried to quit before. Not that I was much of a success. I've never been much of a success at anything.  
  
Listening to others would be one of them.  
  
I quickly put the cigarette between my lips and light it. It doesn't matter much anyways, Luka's not here. Just as long as my father doesn't see, I'll be fine.  
  
When I was a teenager I used to sneak out here at night for a cigarette. I'd lean against the fence and dream of being somebody important, somebody famous, somebody loved. I promised myself I'd get out of here one day, and be somebody nobody expected me to be, somebody I always dreamed of being, but never really was.  
  
**********  
  
And even though the moment passed me by  
  
I still can't turn away  
  
I saw the dreams you never thought you'd lose  
  
Tossed along the way  
  
Letters that you never meant to send  
  
Are lost and blown away  
  
***********  
  
I was young, I was stupid, and I was a teenager. What the hell did I know? I didn't know that women like me never turn into much. I never was much, so what made me think I could really become something? Probably just teenage ignorance.  
  
*********  
  
And now we've grown up orphans I never knew their names  
  
We don't belong to no one, that's a shame  
  
You could hide beside me, maybe for awhile  
  
And I won't tell no one your name  
  
I won't tell your name  
  
*********  
  
After my father left, the three of us stayed here for a while, until Maggie had an episode and decided that we needed to move. We moved again and again and again. Greg moved back into the house, so at least we could be 'home' when we were visiting him.  
  
So that's how my life was, from the age of eight until eighteen. Spending most of my time with Maggie, meaning I got to spend most of the time being the "parent" of the household-doing all the cleaning, making sure Eric got his homework done, and trying desperately to get Maggie to stay on her meds, then spending a bit of time with Greg-a man who had no illness to blame his stupidity on. I mean, who leaves his children with Maggie? A man who doesn't care much for his children, probably. A man who doesn't really want to be a father.  
  
*************  
  
The scar's a souvenir she'd never lose  
  
The past is never far  
  
And did you lose yourself somewhere out there  
  
Did you get to be a star  
  
**************  
  
I flicker my cigarette gently, then place it back in my mouth. The small glow at the end of it is now the brightest thing in the backyard, and I hug myself gently as the cold air hits my skin harder; but I still refuse to go inside.  
  
I figured that even though he didn't care about me much, he could have at least had the decency to pretend to. Or maybe I just don't deserve that much. God knows nobody's ever really shown me otherwise.  
  
All the life has been sucked out of my cigarette, so I toss it to the ground and step on it lightly with my shoe. I close my eyes and cross my arms across my chest, the wind starting to pick up speed; cold air whipping across my face. For just a moment, I have the urge to spread my arms out the way I used to when I was very young, hoping that the wind would pick me up and would take up into the sky, carry me away from here.  
  
Out of curiosity, and maybe a tiny bit of hope, I actually spread my arms out. Closing my eyes, I go up on my tippy-toes and start to feel the wind take hold of me...  
  
***************  
  
Don't it make you sad to know that life  
  
Is more than who we are  
  
You grew up way too fast  
  
Now there's nothing to believe  
  
The reruns all become my history  
  
A tired song keeps playing on a tired radio  
  
And I won't tell no one your name  
  
And I won't tell your name  
  
***************  
  
"Abby?"  
  
I hear my father call me from the house, and let my arms fall to my waist, and my heels to the ground. Opening my eyes, I force myself to remember where and who I really am, and that dreams don't come true, they're just dreams.  
  
Greg walks into the backyard, looking at me suspiciously, as if maybe he's almost got my secret all figured out, "You ok Abby?"  
  
I look up at him, and force a smile, "Just came out for some fresh air."  
  
"Air isn't really fresh when you're smoking," he says with a bit of a chuckle. How the hell did he know? "Come on, food's ready." He turns around and walks back inside as I fallow slowly behind him, the wind behind me becoming stronger and stronger.  
  
************  
  
I think about you all the time  
  
But I don't need to think  
  
If it's lonely where you are, come back down  
  
And I won't tell your name  
  
************* 


	6. Pop Went the Weasel

No Place Like Home Part 6 - Pop Went the Weasels  
  
Author: Lexa  
  
Email: c_rossingjordan@yahoo.com  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Comments: This is moving along (slowly). But I want to thank you all for your incouragement!!! I'm very busy right now with school and a play I'm doing, but I *will* find time to write part 7 soon! :) Anyways, ENJOY!!!!!  
  
~*~*~*  
  
"Round and round the mulberry bush, the mokey chased the weasel............."  
  
I groan as I burry my head in one of the pillows to muffle the sound of children playing outside. I don't want to get out of bed. Not today. This is not the day for little children to be singing loudly outside my window in the morning. If only I could just sleep my way through the rest of Thanksgiving weekend.  
  
"..........POP GOES THE WEASEL!"  
  
Stupid kids. I throw my pillow off the bed and finally lift my head. The first thing I see is the clock that reads 7:30. I roll over to face the window. The children outside are now playing jump rope. What kind of children are they? Why are they playing outside at 7:30 in the morning? And on Thanksgiving, too.  
  
My muscles ache as I pull my legs out of bed and the rest of my body follows. I can hear Greg fussing with pots and pans downstairs, and I wonder how anybody can be so excited about anything, let alone cooking, this early in the morning. Maybe it's just him. And those little children outside. And Luka. Okay, maybe I'm the only one who'd rather just never get out of bed.  
  
I don't bother changing, just start going towards the kitchen. Just as I'm half way down the steps, I get a glimpse of inside the kitchen and realize Greg is not alone, Eric is sitting at the table. The two of them both turn to look at me, and we all pause for a moment.  
  
Finally, my brother gets up from his seat and walks over to me on the stairs and smiles, "Hey, I think I remember you."  
  
"Nice to see you too, Eric," I grin and extend my arms out to give him a hug.  
  
As he hugs me, he lifts me up and looks at me. "Miss me?"  
  
"Like you wouldn't believe." We both laugh. "You can let me down now."  
  
"Never!"  
  
"You know, even though you're bigger than me, I will still always be your older sister," I tease.  
  
"No, no, all that goes out the window when I'm able to pick you up and twirl you around like this," he replies as he demonstrates.  
  
"Come on you two," Greg calls to us from the kitchen. "Breakfast." Eric puts me down and I follow him into the kitchen. "So, what do you guys want?"  
  
I notice he's made pancakes, put out cereal, and prepared toast. But no coffee. Eric looks at me and laughs. "I think I know what Abby wants."  
  
I shrug, "I'm not really hungry. But I guess I'll have a bit of pancakes," I say, sitting down.  
  
Finally, our father clues into what Eric meant. "Oh, coffee? I can make some."  
  
"No, no, Dad, that's fine. Just sit down."  
  
"Are you sure Abigail?"  
  
Eric laughs. "I haven't heard you be called 'Abigail' in a long time." I stick my tongue out at him, and Greg joins Eric in laughing.  
  
******  
  
All around the cobbler's bench  
  
The monkey chased the weasel  
  
The monkey thought 'twas all in fun  
  
Pop -- goes the weasel!  
  
Johnny's got the whooping cough and  
  
Mary's got the measles  
  
That's the way the money goes  
  
Pop -- goes the weasel!  
  
*********  
  
"I couldn't believe that you left med school," my brother comments as he takes a bite of toast.  
  
I play with my fork and look at the small bits of pancakes left on my plate . The two of us have been sitting here for about an hour now. Greg left right after breakfast about thirty minutes ago so he could pick up something from work he forgot. Now that's devotion, going to work on Thanksgiving just to pick something up. Either that or he needed a break from us. Whichever way, it gave Eric and I time to talk.  
  
"Some things just aren't meant to be."  
  
"But you had worked so hard to get there. Then when you told me you left, I guess I was a bit caught off guard."  
  
"I like my job as a nurse."  
  
The two of us are silent for a moment, and my body starts to tense up a bit. We're both looking at each other. We both know what the other is thinking. I want to know how Maggie is, although don't have the courage to mention it first, and I can tell he desperately wants to know if everything's been worked out between Greg and I, although fears to bring it up.  
  
"So..... You and this Luka guy...." He finally says, smiling.  
  
I laugh. "Yah?"  
  
"You never really told me much about him."  
  
My body relaxes again. "What were you expecting? A description of how he is in bed?" We both laugh.  
  
"Nooooooo...... that would probably be a bit too much information," he chuckles.  
  
"Then what?"  
  
"I don't know..... What does he look like? Has he ever been married? Does he have kids...... Does he prefer cheese or butter on his broccoli?" Both of us laugh again. It's not hard to remember why I missed Eric so much. He's the only glimpse of having a happy family I ever had.  
  
"He's uhh.. tall, with dark hair.... He was married once, with two kids, they died." I pause for a moment, "And who eats broccoli?"  
  
"His wife and kids died?"  
  
"In the war."  
  
"Oh."  
  
**********  
  
I climbed up and down the coast  
  
To find a golden eagle  
  
I climbed the rocks and thought I was close  
  
Pop -- goes the weasel!  
  
But, alas, I lost my way  
  
Saw nothing but a seagull  
  
I tore my pants and killed the day  
  
Pop -- goes the weasel!  
  
*********  
  
"And what about your love life? Still going out with that Becky?"  
  
"Yah. I still can't believe it. Next month it will be three years."  
  
I raise my eyebrows, "Wow, surprised you haven't asked to marry her by now."  
  
He tares a piece of toast and tosses it at me. "You're the one to talk! How is our dear Richard anyways?"  
  
I shrug as I half-heartedly stick my fork into a small piece of pancake. It's soaked in maple syrup. "Busy with his whores."  
  
"A little resentful, aren't we?"  
  
"I swear Eric, he's now picking up dates at Chucky Cheese."  
  
Eric shakes his head, chuckling as he gets up from his seat and takes both our plates to the sink. I follow behind him and open the tap, letting it fill up with water. There's a silence as we begin to wash the dishes. "So........ You and dad seem a little......" I look at him questioningly. "Distnat. I take it the two of you didn't really work things out?"  
  
I turn to put the dish in the cupboard and turn back again with a sigh, "Not really."  
  
He starts to wash another plate. I can see that look on his face. The disappointed look that everyone seems to use with me. Luka has the look on his face when I smoke. Weaver gets that look when I screw up. Everytime I don't live up to someone's expectations, I see that look on their face.  
  
"It has been twelve years Abby."  
  
"Right, it was a long time ago." I take the next dish from him to dry off quickly.  
  
"Close, but that's not it." He stops what he's doing and turns to me, taking my hands, forcing me to stop what I'm doing and look at him in the eyes. "It's been a long, long time. I can't just sit around anymore and watch this happen. You think he doesn't love you and he thinks he did some horrible thing to ruin your life. And I think we both that's not actually true." We both stare at each other silently for what seems like an eternity. Finally, he let's go of me and slowly goes back to washing the dishes.  
  
**********  
  
Every night when I go out  
  
The monkey's on the table  
  
Take a stick and knock it off  
  
Pop -- goes the weasel!  
  
Put some pepper on its nose  
  
And you'll make it sneeze-l  
  
Catch it fast before it snaps --  
  
Pop -- goes the weasel!  
  
******* 


	7. The Ice Is Slowly Melting

No Place Like Home Part 7: The Ice Is Slowly Melting  
  
Author: Lexa  
  
Email: c_rossingjordan@yahoo.com  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Spoilers: Don't think there are any.  
  
Comments: Lots of thanks to Caro for helping me out with this one!! If it weren't for her I'd still be stuck on the first line.  
  
The song is "Here Comes the Sun" by George Harrison. I chose it just a few days before his death (may he rest in peace), so I've decided to dedicate this chapter to him.  
  
*********  
  
Here comes the sun  
  
Here comes the sun  
  
and I say  
  
It's alright  
  
*********  
  
"Alright, now put in half a cup baking soda."  
  
"That pan's got to be somewhere," Greg keeps looking through the drawers he's already been through five times. Like the pan is going to suddenly appear in one of drawers out of nowhere.  
  
I turn from the fridge to my brother standing by the counter, reading the recipe, "Half a cup? I don't think so Eric."  
  
He squints and looks at it more carefully, "Sorry, half a tablespoon."  
  
"Now that's more like it," I turn back to fridge and continue trying to locate the onions that are apparently supposed to be in here. No wonder we were never good at the whole Thanksgiving thing. Even now that we're all adults, us trying to make dinner is still a pathetic sight. Our father is frantically trying to locate a pan he probably threw out years ago. I can't seem to find my way around this refrigerator, and Eric can't even read a recipe for biscuits.  
  
Finally, Greg stands up and puts his hands on his hips, "I can't make a turkey without that damn pan!"  
  
"Dad, are you sure you didn't throw it out?"  
  
Eric looks up from the recipe, "Did you throw out everything when you cleaned the kitchen out last year?"  
  
Oh thank God, one of us is finally showing some sign of intelligence.  
  
"I think I put most of the stuff in the attic."  
  
Eric and I look at each other, both holding back laughter, "Why don't you try up there then?" I ask him.  
  
"Right." He sighs and starts to head upstairs.  
  
Eric and I are still exchanging a Look. Something gives me the feeling we're going to end up having take out food for Thanksgiving.  
  
***********  
  
Little darling  
  
it's been a long cold lonely winter  
  
Little darling  
  
it feels like years since it's been here  
  
Here comes the sun  
  
here comes the sun  
  
and I say it's all right  
  
Little darling  
  
the smiles returning to the faces  
  
Little darling  
  
it seems like years since it's been here  
  
Here comes the sun, here comes the sun  
  
and I say it's all right  
  
***********  
  
"It has to be up here. There's no where else it would be."  
  
"Dad, maybe we should just forget about it." I look up at him as he rummages through yet another box.  
  
"Forget about it? We can't make turkey without it. And we can't have Thanksgiving without turkey."  
  
I sigh and go back to the box I had been looking through, "Well, it's not in here." I move it to the side and pick up another box. This man doesn't seem able to put everything in boxes together and label them. In the last box there was 3 dead AA batteries, an old Michael Jackson tape, and one of Eric's sweaters from like, the sixth grade, among other things.  
  
The moment I open the box, I see a George Harrison record sitting at the top. I put it aside and start looking through the other things in the box. A folded piece of Bristol board; a worn out stuffed dog with a missing ear; a little pink dress; a pink tattered cotton blanket. This stuff looks very, very familiar, I just can't figure out why. I take out the blanket, and realize that it's a baby's blanket. And in beautiful blue cursive writing, 'Abigail' has been sewed in the middle. Below it is a purple flower with two little leafs.  
  
"Dad, what is this stuff?"  
  
He looks up from what he's doing and looks at the blanket for a moment. "That's your baby blanket. That box is just some of your old things."  
  
I put down the blanket and take out the Bristol board and unfold it. In orange paint, two little hand prints sit in the middle. At the bottom right corner it reads, 'Abigail Wyczenski, October 3, 1975.'  
  
I look up at Greg. "Why did you keep all this?"  
  
He looks down and shrugs. "To remember you by."  
  
Looking down back at the box, the things are starting to seem more and more familiar. I take the pink dress into my hands.  
  
"You hated wearing dresses," he tells me. "But I thought you looked absolutely adorable in that dress. Even though you wouldn't stop squirming."  
  
I smile, remembering the time Greg and Maggie made me wear it for a wedding, complaining every second. It doesn't seem right to have to wear a frilly pink dress when you're a tomboy (and proud of it, too).  
  
The George Harrison record seems out of place though. "What about this one?" I ask, holding it up.  
  
Greg raises his eyebrows, "You don't remember that?"  
  
I shake my head.  
  
He walks over and sits beside me, "You adored that record. One day you had found it in my collection and decided to listen to it. You fell in love with 'Here Comes the Sun'." He pauses for a moment, and smiles as if he's remembering something. "You wouldn't go to sleep without hearing it."  
  
"You actually remember all this, Dad?"  
  
I can feel his hand rub on my back gently, "Of course."  
  
Putting the record down, I pick up the stuffed dog that was sitting at the bottom of the box. "Harry." My fingers brush against his dull brown fur. His fur wasn't fur when Greg bought him for me. And he had a red collar that went missing a long time ago. "You remember when we bought this dad? You had taken me out for my fifth birthday. We went to that restaurant on Canal street, and the zoo. Then we went to that toy store... what was it's name?"  
  
"Simmons's Toy Store."  
  
"Right. And I picked out Harry."  
  
I had been too short to reach him on the shelf. Greg had picked me up from under my arms, and lifted me up high enough so I could get him. As he put me down, I turned to Greg and asked him what I should name him.  
  
'Whatever you want, sweetie.' So I named him after some film star Maggie really liked.  
  
Greg took my hand and we walked to the register so he could pay for it. I held on to the edge of the counter for support as I stood on the very tip of my toes so I could see the woman at the register ringing in Harry.  
  
She looked at me and smiled, 'Well, aren't you a lucky young lady?'  
  
I grinned back at her, then took Harry as she gave Greg the change. We went out of the store with me on his shoulders giggling as he told me silly stories.  
  
I went home that day thinking I had the best daddy in the world.  
  
"I had forgotten about all these things." In fact, I still don't remember the George Harrison record.  
  
"It's harder to remember good things than it is the bad things, I know. But maybe all we need sometimes is a little reminder."  
  
There are a lot of reminders in this house. Although I already knew there are bad ones, I think I'm only now starting to remembering the good ones.  
  
Our conversation last night had been a reminder. Just like today. The only difference is I'm not running away this time. This is probably a first for me.  
  
"Dad?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"About what I said..."  
  
"Last night?"  
  
"That and.... when I left."  
  
He nods slightly. We both know what I'm talking about.  
  
"I didn't mean it."  
  
"Yes you did." Are you trying to make this harder dad?  
  
"Well... not all of it. I was wrong, alright? I don't blame you for everything. Maybe I thought I did then... but I really don't."  
  
He's not saying anything. Why isn't he saying anything? Oh God, wait did I do now?  
  
Maybe he wants me to say more. "I know you did the best you could-"  
  
"Sometimes I wonder if I really did."  
  
Ok, I was not expecting him to say that. "What do you mean?"  
  
"Abby, I cared about you and your brother more than anything. I didn't want you to end up having to grow up so fast. But you did. By the time you were ten, I could see it. You weren't a ten year old girl, you were about fifteen years ahead of yourself, and I think I told myself there was nothing I could do about-"  
  
"There wasn't, dad. Really. I'm not sure that there's anything anybody could have done." You know, I think that's the first time I've ever really admitted that. Even to myself. Today is a day for a lot of firsts.  
  
Neither of us can think of anything to say. Is that it? Is all this finished? Was that all we needed to 'patch things up'?  
  
"Alright, well, I give up."  
  
Hun? What the hell is he talking about?  
  
"I guess we're not going to have turkey this Thanksgiving."  
  
Oh. Right. We were looking for the pan. For the turkey. It's Thanksgiving. Where is your mind, Abby?  
  
Greg gets up with a sigh. "I guess we should clean this stuff up."  
  
"Don't worry about it, Dad. You go downstairs, I'll take care of it."  
  
"You sure?"  
  
"Yah, Eric probably thinks we got lost up here. Go ahead. See if maybe you guys can salvage a bit of what's left of our attempt at a Thanksgiving dinner."  
  
The tension seems to melt as both of us laugh, and he starts to head for the door.  
  
As I see him disappear downstairs, I look back down at everything. Slowly I put everything back in the box except for the George Harrison record. I put the record on the chair as I put everything else in their boxes, and move them to the side so they're out of the way.  
  
I still can't believe he kept these things after all these years. Eric's old tricycle is even sitting in the corner.  
  
With the record in my hand, I take a last look at the attic and turn out the light as I leave.  
  
I'm starting to wonder why I was so scared to come.  
  
************  
  
Sun, sun, sun, here it comes...  
  
Sun, sun, sun, here it comes...  
  
Sun, sun, sun, here it comes...  
  
Sun, sun, sun, here it comes...  
  
Sun, sun, sun, here it comes...  
  
Little darling  
  
I feel that ice is slowly melting  
  
Little darling  
  
it seems like years since it's been clear  
  
Here comes the sun, here comes the sun  
  
and I say it's all right  
  
It's all right  
  
************ 


	8. Walking On Ice

No Place Like Home Part 8: Walking On Ice  
  
Author: Lexa  
  
Email: c_rossingjordan@yahoo.com  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Spoilers: Yes. There are tons of spoilers. Spoilers for season nine that even the writers don't know about...... Ok, there are no spoilers!!!!  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Abby, I am Abby. So there, can't sue me NBC.  
  
Alright, alright, I'm not Abby Lockhart. And Eric isn't my brother. At least I can say I invented Greg, alright? Everybody else I don't own. If I did, would I be wasting my time with a this little fanfic???? I think NOT.  
  
Comments: Alright... we're getting close to the end people (of this series, I mean.... I didn't mean that in any Armageddon way...). I hope you've been enjoying it.... It's the first fanfic I ever wrote (and posted), although I have written and posted other fanfics since I've started this one.... Anyways, thanks to Jas who gave me the suggestion for the song way back in like, September or October when I started writing it. This song, by the way, is "Blood Makes Noise" by Suzanne Vega.  
  
My final comment is this: Windows Me sucks and 3 Doors Down rocks.  
  
That's all folks. Enjoy the show.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
I'd like to help you doctor  
  
Yes I really really would  
  
But the din in my head  
  
It's too much and it's no good  
  
I'm standing in a windy tunnel  
  
Shouting through the roar  
  
And I'd like to give the information  
  
You're asking for  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
"Ow, cut it out!"  
  
"You're the one who started it." Eric insists as he pushes me back on the floor.  
  
"Let me sit on the couch." I try to get on, but end up sitting on him instead.  
  
"Go sit on the recliner."  
  
"No!"  
  
This is when our father pops his head in the living room.  
  
"What are you two doing?"  
  
I fold my arms in front of my chest, "Eric won't let me sit on the couch."  
  
"Abby's now sitting on me."  
  
Greg chuckles.  
  
"It's not funny," I tell him.  
  
"You guys, this isn't 1978, and you're not seven years old. Can we act like adults please?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Never." Eric adds.  
  
Finally the two of us start laughing and Greg goes back into the kitchen. After finally being able to settle on the couch beside Eric, I call into the kitchen.  
  
"Dad, we've given up on a homemade Thanksgiving dinner. The pizza's going to be here any minute. What are you doing in there?"  
  
"I'm looking for something in the pantry."  
  
"What? A cooked turkey?"  
  
I laugh at my brother's remark.  
  
"You'll see."  
  
Eric leans over and whispers to me, "You think he's got a turkey hidden somewhere in there?"  
  
I grin, "You never know."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
But blood makes noise  
  
It's a ringing in my ear  
  
Blood makes noise  
  
And I can't really hear you  
  
In the thickening of fear  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
'Ding-dong'  
  
"Dad, whatever it is, give up. The food's here," I tell him as I go to open the door.  
  
I hand the pizza guy a couple of bills and bring the food inside. Just as I'm doing that, Greg emerges from the kitchen holding a bottle of wine and three glasses in one hand, and an old record player in the other.  
  
Eric looks at what's in his hands, and comments, "Hey, where's our turkey?"  
  
I smile and set the pizza on the table, then take the record player from dad, who has a very confused look on his face.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Never mind that dad, Eric's just being funny. What's the record player for?" And why was it in the pantry? Oh, never mind, there's no point.  
  
"I thought we could listen to that George Harrison record you brought down."  
  
Eric groans, "Oh my god, I thought I'd never have to listen to that thing again."  
  
I look at the two of them, "Am I the only one who doesn't remember this apparent obsession I had?"  
  
"Mom probably doesn't remember."  
  
Dad flashes Eric a look just as he says that.  
  
"What? It's probably true."  
  
"Come on, let's try to have a nice Thanksgiving."  
  
"Hey, I'm not doing anything to damage this 'nice Thanksgiving'," my brother stubbornly insists. I knew this wasn't going to last long. It had been going well for a while, but now it's all going to go to hell. Nothing ever stays good in our family, and this time we know who to thank. Thanks Eric. Way to go Dad.  
  
"What is that supposed to mean Eric?"  
  
"I mean you and Abby are acting like everything's alright. When you're both really mad at each other, for who the hell knows what."  
  
I finally intercept, "We've worked things out, Eric. Which you would know if you didn't just decide to blurt things out and make an ass of yourself."  
  
"Oh really?" Eric stands up and we are now standing nose to nose.  
  
"Alright, you guys, let's just calm down for a minute."  
  
"Why dad? So we can have a 'nice Thanksgiving'? Like a nice little happy family? You know what I think would be nice? Is if the two of you stop playing this little charade."  
  
Dad and I both give him questioning looks.  
  
Eric goes over and grabs the bottle of wine from Greg. "This, for example. This, is something Abby can't drink."  
  
Shut up Eric. Shut up. Shut up. Just put the bottle down and shut your mouth. You're not going to tell dad anything.  
  
"Why?" Dad looks at both us, hoping one of us will give him an answer.  
  
Of course, Eric does. "She's a drunk. That's why. She has been for years."  
  
"SHUT UP ERIC!"  
  
How could he do this to me? He wanted me to patch things up with Greg, and I did. Now because of him it probably all went to hell. Everything always goes to hell. This is yet another way that I've failed him. I've already failed as a wife, a girlfriend, a friend, a sponsor, and a med student. Now my father knows I've failed as a daughter, too.  
  
Thanks a lot, Eric. I appreciate that.  
  
".... And then there's Dad." He just can't seem to stop. I don't think I've ever seen him like this, in such an outrage. My brother and I always had to be the ones who stayed level headed.  
  
"Alright Eric, that's enough," Greg is trying to stop him from saying something.  
  
"-Who's been seeing this woman Joann for the past three years, and won't even tell you Abby because he thinks you'll disapprove. But why he suddenly wants approval from his kids is beyond me."  
  
That's great. My father's about to marry a woman and I've never met her, never even heard of her until today. Why would I disapprove? Maybe somebody in our family will be happy for once.  
  
Nobody's saying anything. Eric's looking at both Greg and I, Greg's looking at me, and I'm looking at the floor.  
  
"Ok... let's just... " Greg says rubbing his face, "Let's just calm down here for a moment." He takes the bottle from Eric's hand. "I'm going to put this away. The two of you get plates."  
  
Eric and I still stand frozen as Greg goes into the kitchen. Neither of us really knows what to do, I guess. After all the troubles we've had in this family, they've never been between Eric and I.  
  
Finally, Eric goes into the kitchen and comes back with three plates. Without saying a word to each other, or even looking at each other, we set everything out on the living room table.  
  
Greg now comes back in with a bottle of Pepsi and a couple of juice glasses.  
  
None of us want to say anything as we pour the drinks and start to eat our food. Suddenly, Dad gets up and picks up the George Harrison record I brought from upstairs.  
  
As I slowly bite into my cheese pizza, what apparently was my favourite song begins to play.  
  
"Little darling, I feel that ice is slowly melting......."  
  
Is it really melting? Or is it freezing up again? This could go two ways. This new revelation could just bring us to the exact same way we were before, or we could become more of a normal family. One that sees each either more than once every five years. One that tells each other things.  
  
We're either going to go back to walking on ice again. Or we're going to start walking in puddles, all that's left of the ice.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
I think that you might want to know  
  
The details and the facts  
  
But there's something in my blood  
  
Denies the memory of the acts  
  
So just forget it Doc.  
  
I think it's really  
  
Cool that you're concerned  
  
But we'll have to try again  
  
After the silence has returned  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
I look away from the window, and realize nobody's said a word in five minutes. Eric is sitting on the couch, staring aimlessly into space. Greg is by the TV unit, trying to make himself busy by straightening one of the drawers. None of knows what to do with ourselves.  
  
Turning back to the window, I see the street is basically empty. Nobody wants to go out when it's dark. Too scary. You don't know what's lurking out there. There might be an old woman walking her dog. There might be somebody trying to mug you. You never really know.  
  
None of us knew what was really lurking for this weekend. We could have argued throughout the entire Thanksgiving. We could have gone pretending everything was alright. We could have resolved what happened twelve years ago. We could have actually told each other what was going on our lives. We never really knew.  
  
Now we know everything, after the longest (about a half hour, should be some kind of record...), most honest, and heartfelt conversations we've ever had, and we also know what we should have expected from this weekend. Greg knows that I'm a drunk. That I almost died from drinking too much and passed out on the floor of a bar. I finally found out that he's been dating this woman for almost three years now and is getting married to her in June. She's a school teacher who is about twelve years younger than dad, which is why I'm guessing he thought I'd disapprove. And now we all know that Eric has a difficult time keeping his mouth shut.  
  
"Abby?"  
  
My heart jumps because nobody's said a word in a while, so hearing my father's voice was startling. I turn away from the window again and look at him.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"I hope you don't mind me asking, well, I was just wondering... How long have you been sober?"  
  
He looks kind of timid. Which is odd from a man who is always trying to be the strong one. Okay, so I think I know where Eric and I get that from.  
  
"Six years, dad."  
  
He nods. "Abby..."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Just so you know, you could have come to me. I would have been there for you."  
  
I nod slowly, "I know..."  
  
He gives me a smile small, and it goes quiet again for a moment.  
  
"Hey Abby." I gues Greg and I are both surprised to now hear Eric. "So... you really have to leave tomorrow?"  
  
I sigh. I almost forgot about leaving. "Yes, I have to work on Tuesday."  
  
"The two of you should come up here more. Especially you Abby."  
  
"We will dad."  
  
"I promise."  
  
I don't make promises often, so I guess that says a lot. At the beginning of the weekend I was disappointed because I thought this was the closest to home I'd ever get. Alright, so I'll admit, even if that is true, I guess it's not all that bad.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Cause blood makes noise  
  
It's a ringing in my ear  
  
Blood makes noise  
  
And I can't really hear you  
  
In the thickening of fear  
  
Blood makes noise..  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 


End file.
